


Whatever's Written in Your Heart

by captaincharming



Series: My Problem is You [1]
Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Infidelity, M/M, No Cult Ending, it's love, it's more than an affair, joseph and mary both deserve better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 09:29:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11688816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captaincharming/pseuds/captaincharming
Summary: “Hey,” Robert says again, turning Joseph’s face back to his. “Look at me. You think Mary don’t already think this is happening? She’s been asking me for years if I’m screwing her husband yet.”





	Whatever's Written in Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

> just a few things before we get started!
> 
> 1\. you'll see joseph refer to what he and robert have as immoral or sinful. i don't write that to mean, in any way, that he's referring to gay sex. this is definitely not an “omg it's so sinful! gay sex is my guilty pleasure!” kind of fic. if joseph calls something wrong, he's referring to extramarital affairs
> 
> 2\. i'm not sure if there are canon ages for all the dads, and if there are, i might ignore them anyway because i love the idea of an age difference for these two. this is set a few years before the timeline in the game, so my robert is 47 here, 50 in the game, and joseph is 32, 35. i grew up with people like joseph and mary. those kids got married and started having babies before they could rent cars. even factoring in joseph's “wild years”, i’d put his and mary’s wedding around 23 years old
> 
> 3\. joseph's tattoo is referenced in the game as possibly being an anchor. i'd prefer to think it matches the one on robert's hand, which serves the purposes of this fic better. thanks for reading!

Joseph pauses, one hand on the lid of the trashcan, the other clutching a bag that probably should have been taken out days ago, given how the contents were straining at the seams. Mary had been chiding him about neglecting his household duties for days now, but the church’s vacation bible school starts next week, and as youth minister, Joseph is in charge of all the sermon and activity planning for each age group. It’s a lot of work, and he doesn’t necessarily have time for any extraneous tasks, up to and including making sure the can gets to the curb on time for pickup. Which is why Joseph finds himself finally taking out the garbage at 3 a.m. on a Wednesday. It’s lucky he remembered, really. Lucky he was up working on instructions for a no-tape, folding craft stick bible verse activity for the 1st graders; otherwise, he would’ve been sleeping rather than heading to the kitchen for a boost (no one would notice if one brownie were missing from the batch for tomorrow’s bake sale), and he wouldn’t have caught a whiff of a week's worth of go-gurt containers, applesauce cups, and dirty diapers emanating from the trash.

 _Small blessings_ , he had thought, gathering up all the mess he could find, a considerable amount but not unexpected for a house with four kids under eight, and hauling it all out to the can. It’s been raining, the streetlights of their quiet little cul-de-sac glinting in the puddles formed on the sidewalks, but that isn’t the light that caught Joseph’s eye. He looks around again, squinting against the slight drizzle, eyes trained on the house next door, which he’s sure is the source of the light he saw.

Robert’s house is dark, like the rest of the houses in the cul-de-sac, like any decent person’s would be at 3 a.m., but Robert isn’t a decent person by anyone’s estimation, especially his own. Joseph feels a pang of guilt for the uncharitable thought. He... _cares_ for Robert, he really does, but the other man doesn’t make it easy. Joseph sometimes catches a glimpse of something more in Robert’s eyes, different from the wary detachment that usually lurks, but only when he’s looking at Joseph, and only for the briefest of moments. There have been fleeting touches and furtive glances over the years they’ve known each other, little indications of _something_ , but neither of them have acknowledged it. Joseph doubts they ever will. Robert is aloof at best, caustic at worst, always on the outskirts of the little community Joseph and the others have created. He’s good for a drink and a tall tale, but any attempt to breach his impenetrable walls is met with a sneer or an expletive. Joseph thinks he sometimes catches the worst of it, simply because of the nature of his job and disposition The others know when to step back, let him retreat, but Joseph won’t give up on Robert. He may never come to rest in God’s love, but that doesn’t mean Joseph can’t continue to show it to him. And Robert tolerates it, so Joseph thinks he maybe doesn’t mind as much as he wants people to believe, namely Joseph, to believe.

Something flashes again in the soft, yellow light of the streetlamps, too sharp to be a lightning bug, though the warm summer night is perfect for gathering a few up in a jar. Provided that the jar has plenty of holes poked in the top, and that they’re let out within a reasonable amount of time. And that you help your youngest children with catching them because sometimes their overeagerness leads to crushed wings and smeared fluorescent guts and-

Joseph catches sight of the mysterious glint once more, finally tracing it to the steps of Robert’s otherwise dim porch. He can make out a shape among the shadows spilling up to the front door, big and broad-shouldered, hunched forward, something metallic in its hands.

 _Robert_ , Joseph’s brain supplies, recognizing the slope of those shoulders, the distinct tilt of his head. Unthinkingly, Joseph lets the lid of the trash can fall shut with a clatter, startling himself and Robert as well, who snaps up straight at the noise. He doesn’t relax his stiff posture once he spots Joseph, suspicious glare burning its way across Joseph’s perfectly manicured yard, bringing even more color to Joseph’s already heated face. Joseph raises a hand sheepishly as their eyes meet, feeling foolish and awkward and hopelessly uncool. Not an uncommon mix of emotions around Robert, Mr. Indifferent himself. Dropping his eyes, Joseph steps his way carefully through damp grass towards him, feeling the long blades of Robert’s higher-than-HOA-recommended height lawn reaching up under the cuffs of his khakis and staining the light fabric. He stops once he reaches the walkway, one hand on his hip in a very forced-casual sort of way. Belatedly, he realizes he’s still holding the bag of kitchen refuse in his other hand. He shifts it slightly behind him, trying to keep the rustling to a minimum. Robert doesn’t even seem to notice, eyes fixed on Joseph’s face. It’s still red as a beet, he’s sure, shining in the darkness like some kind of beacon of his embarrassment.

“Hey, Rob,” Joseph offers, finally forcing himself to meet the other man’s eyes. Just in time for Robert to drop them back to the hands in his lap. The very nice, slightly calloused, heavily scarred hands, clutching a...wait. “Is that a knife?” It’s a stupid question. It’s very obviously a knife, being wielded against a thick piece of wood that has no distinct shape, but is on its way to becoming something. It’s a stupid question, and Robert hates questions in general. There’s no telling how he’ll react to a stupid one. But Joseph is never really in control of what comes out of his mouth when he’s around Robert. No one can unsettle him in quite the same way.

Fortunately, Robert seems fine to let the dumb question pass. “Robert,” he corrects gruffly, head still bent over his work. There’s rain in his hair, Joseph notices, shining among his dark locks and flattening the grey-streaked bangs over his forehead. Upon closer inspection, Joseph realizes it’s not just his hair; Robert is sopping with rain, ever-present leather jacket unable to conceal the cling of his red tee. Even as Joseph watches, a fresh drop breaks free from the uneven ends of the hair at the back of his neck, rolling down his neck and soaking into the dampness at his collar. Goosebumps raise on Joseph’s skin at the sight.

 _A sympathetic response, obviously._ Those seem to happen a lot when he’s around Robert.

Robert’s boots squish against the bottom step as he shifts, almost like he’s making room for Joseph to sit beside him. And what kind of minister would he be if ignored that kind of invitation from one of his most taciturn neighbors? Joseph’s knee presses against Robert’s as he takes a seat, dampening another spot on his flawlessly pressed slacks. Robert pushes back, just for a moment. Fleeting as ever.

“Why are you all wet?” Joseph asks finally, when it appears Robert is comfortable to sit in silence for as long as Joseph can stand it. He lasted about 11 seconds. A new record. Joseph catches a hint of a smile at the corner of Robert’s mouth, almost like he’s proud of him. He’s learning.

“In case you haven’t noticed, it’s raining." Robert speaks slowly, like he thinks Joseph needs time to process the words. Joseph rolls his eyes, a habit he’s trying to break Chris of but one he can’t seem to give up himself.

“Thanks for the weather report, Al Roker. I meant, why are you out in the rain?” Let’s see him try to dodge a direct question. Holding a conversation with Robert sometimes feels like navigating a minefield, but Joseph lives for a challenge. Most people would probably call it unethical, or at least in poor taste, but he actually keeps a list of the people he’s helped convert, ranked from easiest (children, dying people), to hardest (Robert, with several question marks after his name. He comes to services occasionally. Joseph counts it as half a win).

Robert is quiet for a while longer, long enough that Joseph’s attention has wandered back to his lesson plans for VBS. He has yet to come up with a creative way to teach the kids about the fruits of the spirit. Using actual fruit is so cliche, but sometimes cliches can be effective? Maybe he could make a fruit salad and label the ingredients? Kids are always happy when snacks are involved.

“Neil took my keys,” Robert says suddenly, bringing Joseph back from his musings with a start. “Had to walk home,” he adds, punctuating his soft words with a sharp jerk of his knife. The chunk of wood lands on Joseph’s thigh, and Robert reaches to brush it off absently. Joseph feels an inexplicable urge to catch his hand as he takes it back, but he writes it off as a desire to keep Robert close _spiritually._ He hardly ever offers contact freely, physical or otherwise. He’s slightly freer with his touch around Joseph, but Joseph thinks it’s just to see if he can get a rise out of him. Regardless, Joseph feels he must seize the moments when he can. Robert’s words penetrate Joseph’s scattered thoughts then, and he has to bite back a disapproving sigh. The unspoken “again” is louder than anything Robert has said tonight, but Joseph knows he isn’t amenable to a lecture on the perils of alcoholism. God help him if he hasn’t tried a least a dozen times before.

A soft breeze picks up, carrying Robert’s scent on a whirl, and now Joseph can smell the whiskey that mixes with the clean rain and ever-present hint of cigarettes. Robert’s jaw is set stubbornly, obviously expecting Joseph to start in on him. It’s almost physically painful to resist, years of pastoring making well-meaning but often unwelcome advice Joseph’s m.o. at this point, but it’s late, and he’s tired, and it’s nothing Robert hasn’t heard before. Joseph lets it go, but can’t resist his other signature move: comforting hand on the shoulder, squeeze the muscle, let your fingers drift towards his nape -- no. Just the squeeze. That’s friendly. That’s _ministerial_.

“Okay,” he says slowly, letting Robert shrug his hand off after it lingers perhaps a beat too long. “That explains the...dripping.” Robert snorts. It’s endearing. “But what about the sitting? And the whittling?” Joseph watches Robert’s hands for a moment, having never ceased their movements against the wood. Whatever it’s becoming has pointed ears, kind of like a bat. Maybe it’s a gift for Damien. Joseph suppresses something that feels an awful lot like jealousy at the thought. Robert carved him a boat once. A beautiful, stately thing, with “My Other Boat is Jesus” scratched on the side in Robert’s blocky handwriting. It was perfect, even if he had to turn the name side to the wall when he had company. Way better than any bat or other nocturnal creature Damien was getting. Robert doesn’t even really like Damien that much.

 _Are you sure Robert really likes you that much, either?_ Joseph’s brain chimes in helpfully.

Like he can hear Joseph’s thoughts, Robert shifts again, the entire length of his thigh now pressed against Joseph’s. These pants are definitely going to need washed. Joseph notices the cagey look in Robert’s eye, like he isn’t sure he wants to answer Joseph’s questions. Again, nothing new there. “Robert?” he prompts gently, then, “Rob?”, and finally, holding back a smirk, “Robbie?”

“Oh, shut up,” Robert grumbles. “I’m not the only one with cutesy nickname potential, _Joey_.”

Joseph gasps dramatically, clutching a hand to his chest. “You take that back,” he demands, laughter coloring the edges of his words. Robert smiles for the first time, and it’s sweet victory, that quirk of lips. It warms Joseph to his core, curling his toes in his Oxfords. He grins back as Robert shakes his head.

“Better stop before someone gets hurt,” he says, casting a sidelong look at Joseph. “I know how sensitive you churchy types can be.” He knocks his shoulder against Joseph’s gently. “It’s just some dumb bullshit, anyway,” Robert adds, not giving Joseph the chance to speak again. “I got pissy with Neil when he confiscated my shit, so I left. Only realized my goddamn house key was with the others when I got home, and by the time I dragged my sorry ass back to the bar, it was closed.” He shrugs lopsidedly, shoulder still brushing Joseph’s, leather jacket creaking. “So now I’m just sittin’ on my thumb, waitin’ for the bar to open again like some dumb cock.” He keeps his voice deceptively casual, but Joseph knows he’s trying to get a rise out of him with his language. And Joseph is nothing if not a people-pleaser.

“Robert,” he says seriously, grabbing the man by both shoulders to force him to meet his eyes, “your mouth is fucking filthy.”

Robert bursts into husky, whiskey-tinged laughter, head tipping back to expose the long line of his throat. Joseph follows the sight up to his mouth, traces the old, nearly-forgotten laugh lines creasing his cheeks and around his eyes. He takes a second to memorize them, like always, because who knows when he’ll get to see them again. Robert, for all his grit and grime, is a beautiful man. One of God’s best efforts, Joseph is inclined to believe. He’s an authority on the matter, after all.

“You still surprise me sometimes, sweetheart,” Robert says around another chuckle, watching Joseph with light caught in the dark pool of his eyes. “You ain’t like any pastor I’ve ever met.”

“Minister,” Joseph corrects with a smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should,” Robert says, leaning back against his porch rail, still watching Joseph. Joseph fidgets a little, equal parts happy and uncomfortable to have so much of Robert’s attention. “You should also get that bag of stink back over to your own house. Why the hell you’re taking it out at this hour, I don’t wanna know.”

Joseph flushes, having forgotten about the garbage completely. Robert is very compelling when he wants to be. “Oh! Sorry,” Joseph rushes to apologize, pushing the bag farther away with the side of his foot. “I got caught up in VBS prep work and didn’t realize how late it’d gotten and then I remembered that I hadn’t taken the trash down yet and tomorrow is trash day so I-”

Joseph stops abruptly when Robert raises a hand. “I said I didn’t wanna know, honey, not give me your life story.” He’s back to whittling, and Joseph bristles at the double dismissal.

“You’re such an ass,” he most certainly doesn’t whine. Robert grimaces in a way that could be construed as a smile.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. And you’ll take that,” he nods towards the garbage, “back to your house.”

Joseph rises obediently, twisting the drawstrings back around his hand. “You’re coming, too,” he says, nudging Robert’s knee with his own.

Robert glances up at him. “Why’s that?” he asks slowly, looking like he doesn’t really care to know but indulging Joseph anyway. He appreciates the effort.

“If I’m going to take the trash out, I might as well get it all.” It’s a perfect joke. He just thought of it on the spot. The guys would be so proud.

Robert barely manages a derisive snort.

“Weak, Joe.”

“You just don’t appreciate the finer things in life, _Rob,_ ” Joseph stresses the name.

Robert looks up at him again, eyes running slowly over his form, tracing his face before settling on his eyes. Joseph feels warm again. Different warm. Good warm.

“Maybe not,” he says finally, still without breaking the suddenly intense eye contact. Joseph has to clear his throat more than once before he finds his voice.

“Well, you’re coming back with me, anyway. I’m not going to leave you on your porch all night.”

“Wouldn’t be very Christian of you,” Robert agrees, putting up much less of a fight than Joseph expected. There’s a tiredness about him Joseph hadn’t noticed until now, when he stretches out a hand for Joseph to pull him to his feet. Joseph obliges, tugging hard enough to bring Robert a couple steps closer, near enough to sling an arm around his shoulders and steer him towards Joseph’s house. “Mary ain’t gonna have a conniption when she wakes up to find me on her couch, is she?” Robert struggles briefly against Joseph’s hold before giving it up as a lost cause and allowing himself to be led. Joseph is winning all kinds of moral victories tonight. Maybe Robert is drunker than he seems.

“Mary likes you, you know that,” Joseph answers shortly. _It’s me she can’t stand, and I’m still allowed to sleep there_. Another problem for another time. For now, Joseph focuses on finally disposing of the trash in his hand and wheeling the can to the curb, all while keeping ahold of Robert.

“Does she like me enough to let me sleep in the guest room instead?” Robert presses, head drooping towards Joseph’s shoulder. “There’s no tellin’ what kind of disgusting debris your horde of kids has left all over that couch.”

Joseph aims a half-hearted punch at his shoulder, hoping to mask how he stiffens slightly in panic. If Robert sleeps in the guest room, that puts Joseph on the couch for the night, since he and Mary haven’t slept in the same bed for nearly two years. He supposes he could play it off as not wanting to wake Mary, but Robert is far too intuitive for Joseph’s taste. He has this way of looking at you that lets you know you aren’t fooling anyone. Joseph hates that look. He has too much fooling to do to be caught out by a middle-aged drunk with commitment issues.

“Tell you what,” he ventures instead, guiding Robert over the threshold and down into the sunken living room, “how about I camp out here with you instead, and you can use me as a buffer between you and the debris?” He dumps Robert carefully on the pristine, thank you very much, couch and steps back to await an answer. Robert lists towards one side but slaps away the steadying hand Joseph extends toward him. The drinks never truly hit you til you stand up again.

“Bring me a glass of water and about 500 aspirin, and you got yerself a deal." Robert leans his head back against the couch with a tired groan. Joseph watches the movement of his throat for no more than three seconds, but it’s enough to cause Robert to crack an eye open at him. He smirks dangerously when he sees what Joseph was looking at. “Any day now, pretty boy.”

Joseph scoffs, grateful that Robert didn’t comment on his staring. “And maybe some dry clothes?” Robert whisper-shouts at his retreating back. Joseph rolls his eyes again.

“I don't keep clothes in the kitchen, you know,” he whispers back, pausing in the doorway to shoot Robert a look. It misses its intended target because Robert has his eyes closed again, hands laced behind his head and soggy boots outstretched towards the coffee table. He looks perfectly at home, despite the lateness and the wetness and the drunkenness, and the image threads around Joseph’s heart, pulling maybe a little too tight.

Joseph climbs the stairs to the second level as quietly as possible, years of tiptoeing around a hungover Mary’s erratic sleep schedule helping him avoid the creaking steps. He offers up a quick prayer of thanks that he keeps some of his clothes in the guest bedroom closet and slips into the dark room soundlessly. Opening the closet is another matter, door running along the track with a stubborn screech no matter how slowly he goes. He really should spray some WD-40 on that thing. Joseph cracks the door just enough to reach in for the first thing on the hanger; a soft blue sweater, one of his favorites. He thinks it might be a little big on Robert’s slimmer figure, but beggars can't be choosers, and too big is always better than too small, right?

He scans the room for any kind of comfortable pants to sleep in, unwilling to risk the unholy squeak of the closet door anymore than he already has. There's a pair of running shorts on the bed, leftover from the load of laundry he'd folded this morning. Joseph had been intending to wear them to bed himself, but suddenly the thought of Robert in short, _short_ red pants is too good to resist. Because he'll hate it. Because it's funny. Not because Joseph can't stop picturing his strong thighs filling out the tight-fitting legs of the shorts. He grabs them before he can examine that impulse too much and creeps back down the hallway. He should probably peek in on the twins, but he feels like he's pressed his luck far enough.

Back downstairs, Joseph fetches the requested elixirs from the kitchen, stepping back into the living room to find Robert just as he left him. He worries that he may have taken too long and Robert has fallen to sleep, but Robert’s dark eyes blink open a second later. He struggles to get upright briefly before Joseph catches his elbow and heaves, bringing them nose-to-nose in the dark room. Robert smiles at him, and there's something dangerous ( _something sinful_ , Joseph's brain insists) about the curl of his mouth.

“Thanks, sunshine,” Robert breathes, their nearly matched height sending the burst of air across Joseph’s mouth. Before he can react, Robert plucks the garments from Joseph’s unresisting fingers. He scowls at the shorts, stepping back and effectively breaking the weird tension that had settled between them. “You bringing me your kids clothes, man? These wouldn't fit on my dog.”

“No one believes that you have a pitbull, Rob,” Joseph says, setting the glass of water and aspirin bottle on the table and crossing his arms over his chest to fix Robert with a look. “They're my shorts. If they fit me, they'll fit you.”

Robert gives him an appraising look, lingering on his lower half. Joseph fights the urge to squirm.

“Your ass _is_ huge,” Robert concedes finally, dropping the clothes on the couch to pull off his jacket, his wet, clinging shirt on full display. His arms are so nice. “And I ain't seen your dick yet, but I imagine it's as big as the rest of you.”

“Robert!” Joseph gasps, stunned. The ‘yet’ sparks a terrible sort of flame in his belly, and the rush of blood from his head leaves him dizzy and slightly breathless.

Robert sends him a look from behind the hem of his sodden shirt, dropping it beside him as he reaches for the sweater Joseph brought. His arms are _so_ nice. Not to mention the lean expanse of his back. Joseph forces his eyes to the ceiling.

 _Lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil_. And while the jury is still out on whether Robert is technically evil, the glint in his eye moments before has Joseph leaning toward yes.

He casts his vote for ‘definitely yes’ when Robert’s hands go to his belt, unbuckling it and shoving everything, belt, pants, _boxers,_ to the floor in one fell swoop.

“Robert!” Joseph gasps again, an octave higher this time. Robert, bent over and struggling with his boots, glances up innocently. Joseph is looking resolutely away, knowing his face is as dark as Robert’s discarded tee.

“You'd rather see the back?” Robert asks sweetly, shuffling to the side like he's going to put his entire ass on display.

“No!” Joseph sputters, bringing his hands up over his eyes. “I’d rather not see any of it!”

“Aw, don't say that. You'll give a man a complex, sweetheart.”

He is drunk. He's drunk and stupid and Joseph shouldn't listen to a word he says when he's in this state, but the faux-wounded quality to Robert’s tone brings back that need to please, and Joseph sighs. Lying is a sin, after all.

“It’s all very nice, but can you please put it away when you’re standing in the middle of my living room?” Joseph risks a peek through his fingers to see Robert grinning at him, clothes in place. He’s tossed his wet garments over a chair, but Joseph can't even bring himself to care about the mess. Robert’s hair is tousled, sticking up at random angles, showing the grey that's begun spreading farther than the starting point at his temples. Joseph was right about the sweater. It hangs loosely at the hips, is slightly too long in the sleeves, Robert’s fingers curled around the cuffs to keep them up. His shoulders are apparently broader than Joseph’s, though, testing the stretch of the soft material. The sweater is almost long enough to conceal the shorts riding oh so high on Robert’s long, dark legs. Joseph feels another little thrill at the thought of Robert in nothing but his shirt, but the shorts make a nice picture, too. Joseph tries to forget the fact that Robert isn't wearing anything underneath them. Who wears another man’s clothes without underwear? The audacity of it is what's riling Joseph up, he's sure.

“There's something screwy about you tonight, preach.” Robert interrupts Joseph’s frankly inexcusable staring by dropping on the couch with a rough groan. The shorts ride up even higher on Robert’s generous thighs. Dear God in heaven. “Quit disappearin’ on me.”

“I’m right here,” Joseph replies absently, still struggling to rein in his wayward thoughts. Damn Robert and his inherent...damnableness.

“Not here you ain't,” Robert says, tapping a finger against his own forehead. “You're neglecting all your hostly duties. Haven't even offered me my refreshments.” He points to the items on the table.

Joseph reaches for both, passing them to Robert with a disapproving look. “You know, if you didn’t...imbibe quite so much, then you wouldn’t-”

Robert groans again, louder this time, and Joseph shushes him with a quick glance towards the stairs. The last thing he needs is for Mary to come investigating.

“We almost made it, do you realize it? Almost made it an entire interaction without a lecture, Joseph.” Robert fixes him with a glare, though its potency is diminished by the glaze of his eyes. “I’m disappointed in you. I thought you were growing.”

“You’re disappointed in _me_?” Joseph hisses, incredulous.

“Doesn’t feel good, does it?” Robert mumbles around the rim of his glass, and Joseph has to admit that no, it doesn’t. He drops next to Robert on the couch with a resigned sigh, pulling the blanket down from behind them and draping it over their legs. Robert reaches for the remote on the coffee table, flipping the TV on and immediately finding some show about Bigfoot. Joseph feels a rush of affection for Robert’s unwavering devotion to all things cryptid.

“You’re really into this stuff, huh?” Joseph asks softly, forgetting his own ‘don’t ask Robert obvious questions’ rule. He picks at a loose thread in the blanket, watching Robert’s scruffy profile rather than whatever cockamamy plot to capture a fictional creature is being carried out on screen. Thankfully, Robert doesn’t mind the inquiry.

“Everyone’s gotta have a hobby,” he shrugs, settling against Joseph more firmly, eyes trained on a man in a ‘Gone Squatchin’ hat traipsing through the woods. Joseph wonders if he could get Robert a hat like that for when he goes on his own traipses. He’ll have to ask one of the youths to pull it up online for him.

“And you chose cryptids?” Joseph is curious, not cynical, but Robert just shrugs again.

“And you chose Jesus?” he asks in the same tone, and Joseph squawks quietly.

“Jesus is not a hobby, Robert,” he chides, digging an elbow into his ribs. His too-prominent ribs. Unsurprising, seeing as the man lives on whiskey, but unsettling all the same. Joseph resolves to force-feed him about a dozen pancakes in the morning. And maybe one of the bake sale brownies.

“He is a cryptid, though,” Robert argues, eyes drifting closed, head dropping to Joseph’s shoulder. He talks over Joseph’s continued protests. “Only seen by a few people, believed by many to be a myth, really devoted followers, though.” He yawns, breath warm through the fabric of Joseph’s shirt. “People always looking for him. Some finding him. Ultimate cryptid.”

Joseph turns this over for a moment, trying to come up with a response other than ‘blasphemy!’. Finally, he sighs, resting his cheek on Robert’s still-damp but impossibly soft hair. “If I let you think of Jesus as a cryptid, will you make an effort to look for Him?”

Robert hums, moments from sleep. “Sure thing, baby.”

Joseph reaches an arm behind him carefully, pulling him tight to his side. He should have offered him a towel for his hair. It's improbably still wet, thick locks holding moisture for all they're worth. It's spreading through Joseph’s shirt, chilling his skin. But Robert is warm against his side, and if the only thing this kind of closeness with Robert costs him is a load of laundry, Joseph might just consider this another victory.

 

-x-

 

Though it’s hardly the first time it’s happened in the handful of years they’ve lived here, waking up on the couch is a little disorienting for Joseph. He’s upright, for one, his neck strongly protesting the slumped angle it’s been at all night. He’s also still fully dressed, his outfit arguably more wrinkles than anything else. There’s a blanket arranged haphazardly around his shoulders, like someone had tried to tuck it behind him and given up.

 _Robert_ , he remembers, assaulted by the memory of Robert’s heavy head on his shoulder, his heady scent still clinging to the fabric of his shirt. Joseph doesn’t even have to turn his head to smell it. Robert’s presence is unavoidable in every sense.

Except the physical, apparently, because Joseph is alone in his living room, cramped uncomfortably against the arm of the couch, something digging into his lower back in a way that guarantees a bruise. He digs it out irritably, shaking his head when he recognizes one of Chris’ action figures. Maybe Robert had been right to be wary of subjecting himself to a night on Joseph’s sofa. Maybe he’d suffered his own Justice League-inflicted injury at some point and decided to ride the night out on his porch, after all. Joseph stuffs Batman back down the couch in the same way he wishes he could stuff the disappoint that pangs him at the thought. He tips his head against the back of the couch, resting his eyes. He absently wonders about the time. The strength of the sun shining through the bay window tells him he should probably get up, otherwise his children are going to be awake, unsupervised, and that spells trouble for everyone. The twins are going through a phase. Or maybe it’s a twin thing. Either way, their appetite for mayhem is insatiable.

As if on cue, a loud bang emanates from the kitchen, followed by the sound of three young voices laughing. The baby also makes his appreciation for the amusing sound known, screeching delightedly. Joseph shoots off the couch, crossing into the kitchen in less than four strides.

“Christopher, how many times have I told you not to take the baby out of his crib without Daddy there...oh!”

Joseph stops dead inside the door, his dramatic entrance met with the turning of five heads. Chris is tucked into the breakfast nook, Aquaman and Flash on either side of him, eating what looks like every cereal in the pantry combined in a single bowl. The twins are sitting at the island, skinny legs swinging from the stools, grape jelly on their hands and faces and...in their hair. Crish is perched in his highchair, bib on and dry cereal scattered on the tray. He shrieks again when he sees Joseph, arms reaching out to greet him. Up on the counter by the sink, cup of coffee in one hand, swimming pool-sized bowl of cocoa puffs in the other, is Robert. He squints at Joseph briefly before he and Joseph’s children turn their attention back to the television, as if Joseph had interrupted something very important. They’re watching Veggie Tales at a volume that Joseph’s surprised didn’t wake him sooner, Bob’s outraged berating of Larry second only to the twins’ detailed accounting of the plot, which Joseph assumes is for Robert’s benefit. Everyone in the Christiansen household has seen this episode at least 12 times.

“That’s Junior ‘sparagus, he has a baseball hat and one time,” Christian starts.

“He got scared by this GIANT celery, but his daddy said that God is there when you’re scared,” Christie finishes, eyeing Robert intently. “Are you ever scared, Uncle Robert?”

“Look, Danny and Anna, I don’t need to know their whole backstory,” Robert deflects, watching Larry sing and dance around with his stuffed manatee with a bemused expression. “Just tell me when they’re gonna get eaten.”

Joseph lets out a startled laugh that gets drowned by protests from the three eldest children.

“You don’t _eat_ the Veggie Tales!” Chris exclaims, ardent defense of his favorite characters taking precedence over his typical shyness.

“They’re _veggies_ , ain’t they?” Robert shoots back. “What else do you do with ‘em?”

The kids all start talking at once, recounting the various misadventures the Veggies have faced over the course of the show. Robert shakes his head, talking over them once more. “All right, all right, I get it! You don’t eat the damn pickle.”

“He’s a cucumber, actually,” Joseph offers, earning a glare from Robert. “And we don’t use that kind of language in this house, Robert. Right, kids?”

There’s a chorus of agreement from the children before their attention is snagged by the trials of King George and his ducky again. Joseph crosses over to lift Crish out of his chair, making faces and pressing kisses into his downy hair while he makes his way back to where Robert is slouched against the cabinets. “What’s all this?” he asks quietly, just loud enough for Robert’s ears, using the hand not busy holding his youngest son to gesture around the kitchen.

Robert doesn’t answer, spooning soggy cereal into his mouth before chasing it with coffee. He drinks everything like it’s whiskey, and probably wishes it were. Joseph doesn’t see the light on for the pot, meaning Robert probably used the single cup maker. The smell is like heaven to Joseph’s exhausted senses, and he snags the cup from Robert’s fingers without much thought, downing the remainder of the strong brew like a shot of his own. He shudders a little at the bitter taste, Robert’s watchful eyes crinkling a bit at his reaction.

“It’s pretty bad when you can fuck up pre-prepared coffee, Rob,” Joseph teases him, passing the cup back. Robert affects a scandalized look.

“We don’t use that kind of language in this house, Joseph,” he replies, in what Joseph assumes is supposed to be an impression of himself. It’s insultingly terrible. His voice isn’t that high. Joseph lets it go.

“So what’s the deal in here?” he asks again, bumping Robert’s knee in a way he hopes conveys he expects an answer this time. Robert shrugs, reaching behind Joseph to set his bowl and mug in the sink. He’s still wearing Joseph’s sweater, he notes with a thrill, watching the collar dip with Robert’s movement, revealing the top of the mysterious scar that’s sometimes visible on Robert’s chest. He’s pulled his slightly stiff pants back on, however. Joseph tells himself it’s ridiculous to be disappointed. It’s for the best. There are children present, and Robert’s thighs in those shorts were nothing less than indecent.

 _Much like this train of thought_.

Unaware of the direction Joseph’s traitorous mind has taken him, Robert points toward Christian and Christie. “I woke up to the Grady Twins about three inches from my face,” he says, shaking his head again. “I figured I’d better feed ‘em before they started gnawing on one of my fingers. Or my nose.”

“They aren’t dogs, Robert, they’re children,” Joseph laughs. “And their names aren’t Danny and Anna, by the way,” he adds, remembering how Robert addressed them earlier. He’s a little hurt, honestly. Robert’s known the twins practically since they were born, and he hasn’t bothered to learn their names. Joseph had thought, of all the families in the cul-de-sac, Robert cared the most about his own. Joseph certainly cared about _Robert_ more than any of the others, something he probably shouldn’t be so willing to admit, even to himself.

Robert gives him a look like maybe he thinks Joseph is going crazy. “I know that, asshole,” he says slowly. He talks to Joseph like that a lot. It’s also insulting. “I’ve only seen them every day of their damn lives.”

Oh.

“It was a reference,” Robert continues, not noticing Joseph’s embarrassed flush. Or ignoring it, which would be more charitable than Joseph thought him capable of. “Escape to Witch Mountain?” He sighs at Joseph’s blank look. “You gotta broaden your horizons, sunshine. Danny and Anna are the weird, creepy twins in that movie. And before you ask, yes,  the Grady Twins are also weird. And creepy.”

“My kids aren’t weird or creepy, Robert!” Joseph laughs again at Robert’s skeptical look. “They’re...eccentric. And beautiful.”

“Apple doesn’t fall far,” Robert says, gesturing up and down Joseph’s body. Joseph inhales a little sharper than necessary. “Anyway, Superman over there was already up, pouring cereal all over the place. And he said the little one was hollerin’ when he came down, so I figured why not make this a family affair.” He tweaks Crish’s foot as he talks, sending the baby into a fit of giggles. Joseph’s heart twinges uncomfortably. “I just asked ‘em what they wanted to eat, smeared some jelly on some toast, and made Chris dump whatever missed his bowl on the high chair.”

“I...thank you. You have no idea how much that means to me,” Joseph breathes, feeling ridiculously close to tears at Robert’s simple gesture of kindness. He appreciates the help more than words can say. It’s been a long time since Joseph hasn’t been in charge of making sure the kids are up and fed. Most mornings are rough for Mary. Joseph has become almost better with the griddle than he is with the grill. Robert can’t possibly know what a blessing he is. Joseph starts to try to tell him, but Robert isn’t listening.

“Ain’t no thang,” he drawls, obnoxious as ever. Joseph adores him, he really does. “You let me crash on your couch. We’re even.” He tears his eyes away from the TV to meet Joseph’s. “Plus, I figured it was best to leave Mary undisturbed. She was still goin’ strong when I left Jim and Kim’s last night.” His tone is casual, but his eyes are searching Joseph’s with something like a challenge. Joseph swallows, averting his gaze. He can still feel Robert’s eyes on the side of his face, warming his cheeks.

“Yeah, I heard her come in about the time I was taking the trash out. That’s, uh, that’s why I didn’t go up last night,” he lies, still avoiding Robert’s steady look. “I figured she needed the rest.”

They’re quiet for a moment, Joseph pretending to be interested in the children’s program, Crish mumbling happily to himself as he toys with the collar of Joseph’s rumpled shirt. The problems between Joseph and his wife are the neighborhood’s worst-kept secret. Anyone with eyes can see that Maple Bay’s favorite youth minister’s life isn’t quite the idyllic, all-American snapshot he wants everyone to believe. But no one ever asks him about it.  They never bring up the public arguments, the separate drives to church on Wednesdays and Sundays, the awkward tension that permeates any interaction with the two of them. The community lets Joseph play the role he so desperately wants to fulfill. But Robert has never really cared what the community does.

“I saw the shit in the guest bedroom, Joe.” Robert’s voice is blunt, hardly the hesitant, apologetic tone most people adopt when they’re talking to him about Mary. Robert’s irreverence is often one of Joseph’s favorite things about him. Not right now. “The unmade bed. The hour wasn’t the reason you didn’t go up to Mary last night. Based on the way you two act, I’d wager you haven’t been in that bed in a long time.”

Joseph whips back around to face him, righteous anger his only defense. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Robert laughs, though it’s without humor.

“Baby, if there’s one thing I do know, it’s acrimonious marriages. I did the whole spare bedroom, late night, you’ve-lost-that-lovin’-feelin’ dance for most of mine.” He grimaces, eyebrows pinched tight. “It’s a bitch. And it ain’t somethin’ you should go through on your own, kid.”

Joseph feels panicky, scrambling for an argument to counter Robert’s observations. He wants to hide from Robert’s too keen gaze. He wants to deny his marriage being anything like Robert’s, but from the stories he’s pieced together over the years about Robert’s deceased wife, the resemblance between his relationship and Joseph and Mary’s is uncanny. Drunkenness. Absence. Constant fights. Stony silences. He’s often wondered if that’s the reason he’s so drawn to Robert. His subconscious seeking out someone who can sympathize. Except in the case of Robert’s marriage, he was more the Mary than the Joseph. If he truly wants sympathy, Joseph knows he should go to Hugo. His ex put Hugo through the same wringer Joseph finds himself in, but...the only person Joseph can imagine ever sharing any of this with is sitting in front of him, the concern etched in his patented scowl only serving to make him more attractive to Joseph than usual. He’s been carrying this alone for so long. It might be nice to let someone else shoulder a bit of his burden. Robert’s got the breadth for it.

Robert is waiting patiently as Joseph works through nearly a decade’s worth of the compulsion to fake smiles and offer empty reassurances. Joseph’s almost ready to let it all come spilling out, trusting Robert to keep his secrets, maybe finally finding some relief from the weight the stress of holding his fragile family together puts on him, but then Chris laughs at something Bob says, startling Joseph away from the intense connection with Robert. "I can't do this right now, Robert," Joseph almost pleads, stepping back to give him room as Robert slides off the counter. "The kids-"

"Got it," Robert says gruffly, and Joseph thinks he's upset him, wonders if Robert finds him pathetic, if he's blown his chance at opening up, when one of Robert's rough hands finds his elbow. He pulls slightly, bringing Joseph into his space. His eyes are dark up close, like all the light in the room is lost in them. Joseph knows the feeling. "If you ever got a minute, you know where I live." He squeezes Joseph's elbow, surprisingly gentle, holding Joseph's gaze until he nods. This is the side of Robert that makes Joseph pursue a relationship with him, even on days when he knows Robert would love nothing better than to tell him to go to hell. The intensity in his eyes can make you feel like you're the only person in the world. With four kids, a group of youths, and an entire congregation constantly demanding his attention, it's a feeling Joseph knows he could easily become addicted to.

"Soon," Joseph promises, bringing his own hand up to grip Robert's shoulder. They stand there for a brief minute, close, closer than any two people in their situation should be. Robert is as indifferent to the wrongness of the moment as ever, and Joseph lets his disregard bolster his own courage. He flicks his eyes across Robert's face, quick but purposeful, and can tell by the quirk of Robert's lips that he reads him, loud and clear.

It's always been there, this...thing between them. One look from Robert has always been enough to send Joseph reeling, and he's picked up things from the rumor mill about Robert's...proclivities that leave him certain that the interest isn't one-sided. Wrong. Abhorrent. Unfaithful. Immoral. But not one-sided.

Robert takes the last step between them, pressing his mouth to Joseph’s hair, inhaling slowly. “I’m gonna hold you to that, Christiansen.”

Joseph’s mouth is too dry to speak as Robert steps back, then, almost as an afterthought, leans back in to kiss Crish in almost the exact same spot he had Joseph. “Later, gator,” he murmurs, dodging the baby’s grabby hands, intent on catching a piece of his hair. He speaks up, addressing the other three kids next. “See ya, blonde spawn.” He smiles when Joseph shakes his head. The kids offer distracted farewells, still hopelessly engrossed in their movie. “Thanks for lookin’ after me last night, pal,” Robert adds as he strides toward the back door, talking to Joseph over his shoulder. “Lemme know when I can return the favor.” The wink he sends turns Joseph seven shades of red, he just knows it does.

“You can return my _sweater_ anytime!” Joseph calls after him, recovering his senses right before the door has closed. Robert sticks his torso back in, eyes innocently wide.

“If you want it,” he spreads his arms, never looking away from Joseph’s flushed faced, “here it is.” The challenge is back in his eyes, but it’s shifted. It’s more playful, but more dangerous at the same time. Joseph swallows. Robert grins. “Come and get it.”

He’s gone before the dish towel Joseph flings at him can make contact, but his laughter echoes in Joseph’s ears long after he’s left. It puts a smile on his face. Joseph lets it carry him through the rest of the morning, supplementing the kids’ well-intentioned but meager breakfast with a hearty stack of pancakes each. He thinks about it as he piles them all in the car later, leaving Mary a note to meet them at the church with the rest of the bake sale goods. He smiles his way through each interaction with the customers, and it feels less forced than usual. It doesn’t feel forced at all, really. He smiles at Mary when she shows up, sans cookies but in a better mood than he’s seen her in weeks. Maybe the smile is contagious.

He’s still smiling when he pulls in the driveway that night, all four kids asleep in their carseats after a long day of lessons and practices and brownies. Joseph’s eyes drift automatically towards Robert’s dark house. The porch light burned out years ago, and Robert’s never bothered to replace it, but there’s a faint glow coming from the living room window. It flickers like a television. Robert’s probably watching one of his war documentaries. Settled in for the evening. Not expecting any sort of interruption. It’s a nice image.

But if he thinks Joseph isn’t coming after that sweater, he’s got another thing coming. It’s his favorite, after all.

 

-x-

 

Joseph hesitates, hand raised to knock on Robert’s front door, his heart in his throat. Sure, Robert’s earlier teasing had sounded like an invitation, but Joseph knew Robert’s moods could shift with the wind. What was okay one minute would send him into silent, brooding withdrawal the next. Maybe ‘you know where I live’ was just a line, glib and throwaway like Robert often was. Maybe Joseph shouldn’t be here.

Well, there was no maybe about that, actually. Joseph knows he shouldn’t. He knows what he’s teetering on the edge of, the same cliff he and Robert have been skirting for years. It’s been one long, elaborate game of chicken, one or both of them pushing and sending the other into retreat. Joseph thinks that Robert’s fleeting kiss earlier had been his cue to pull back, but he’d missed it, and Robert had offered another chance, but here Joseph was again, toeing that line between innocent flirtation and outright adultery harder than ever.

He knows Mary has had her own indiscretions. He doesn’t know how far they’ve gone, and he doesn’t want to, but there exists no such ‘sanctity of marriage’ between the two of them. Mary has made it abundantly clear that she doesn’t care what he does or who with, so long as he affords her the same leniency. Even now, she’s at home, lounging in front of her favorite show, glass of wine in hand. She’d dismissed him with an absent wave when he’d come down after putting the kids to bed and told her he was headed to Robert’s. He hadn’t lied about that, at least, even if he had led her to believe it was to watch some film. Mary knows how he feels about Robert, Joseph’s sure, based on the number of snide comments she’s made about his alcoholic boyfriend. If she has any qualms about his going over there at this time of night, she’s keeping them to herself.

But even if his wife doesn’t mind if Joseph finally takes that fateful step over the line, the church does. God does. A court will, if it comes down to a matter of custody. Joseph has lived his life paralyzed by fear of repercussion from some act or another, thanks to his fire and brimstone upbringing, but nothing has ever scared him like the way he feels for Robert. Nothing has ever been worth risking the fires of hell before. If it sounds dramatic, Joseph can’t help it. He knows God forgives, but he also knows there’s no such thing as repentance from a sin you plan to keep committing. And if he does this, if he finally allows himself this, Joseph knows there will be no turning back.

His arm is starting to ache from being held up, clenched fist still hovering inches from the door. Before he can make a decision one way or the other, Robert’s door swings inward, startling Joseph into dropping his hand. He sways back slightly as Robert leans up against the frame, one eyebrow raised inquiringly.

“You gonna stand there all night?” he asks, mouth pursed the way it does when he’s trying to hide amusement. Joseph feels like he’s forever laughing at him. He’ll take it.

“I was weighing my options,” Joseph says, hitching a smile onto his face. Fake it til you make it. “You disturbed my process.”

Robert straightens up, strong fingers curling around the edge of the door. “By all means, continue,” he encourages, and slams the door in Joseph’s face.

“Hey!” Joseph laughs, finally rapping his knuckles against the wood. “Robert!”

The door creaks back open, Robert’s guileless face filling Joseph’s vision once more. “Joseph, what a surprise!” he enthuses, reaching out to usher Joseph inside, palm impossibly warm against the small of his back. “I wasn’t expecting you tonight. How ya been, buddy?”

Joseph elbows him none too gently, relishing the squeeze it earns him in return. Robert kicks the door closed behind them, guiding Joseph through the disaster Robert calls a household until they reach the living room. There are maybe slightly fewer empty bottles scattered around than usual, but then again, the room is rather dark. Robert doesn’t falter, managing to avoid any obstacles between them and the couch, dropping down on it to grin up at Joseph. He seems different from usual. Less remote, almost bordering on excited. Joseph’s stomach does a flip when he thinks it may be because of him, his presence here.

“I’ve come for the sweater,” Joseph says, Robert’s infectious smile mirrored on his face. “So hand it over, Small.”

“You should at least offer to buy a fella a drink before you try to get under his sweater, Christiansen. That’s just good manners.” Robert runs his hands down the sleeves of the coveted sweater, like a dare. He has damn nice hands.

Joseph narrows his eyes, squeezing between Robert and the arm, rather than move to the other side of the couch. Robert’s smile shifts when their knees brush, less playful now and more...intentional.

“What if it’s my sweater to begin with?” Joseph settles closer, allowing the full length of his thigh to rest against Robert’s. He’s warm there, too, seeping through Joseph’s ever-present khakis. Joseph isn’t even aware of what he’s saying, too preoccupied with Robert’s proximity and his own swirling, guilty thoughts.

Robert pretends to think for a moment, but really he’s watching Joseph’s face in the blue light of the paused television. His eyes linger several times, catching Joseph’s own before drifting to his hairline, the slope of his nose, the waning smile on his mouth. Joseph fights the urge to lick his lips. Here he is again, caught in Robert’s gaze, feeling like the only two people in the world. He wishes they were. It’d make things so much easier. He studies Robert back, wanting to touch the grey hairs at his temples, trace a finger around the shell of his ear, cup his strong jaw in both hands and feel the rough stubble of his beard against his soft palms.

“I guess,” Robert starts, deep voice gone gravel coarse, “it depends on what you’re gonna give me for it.”

Joseph barely hears him. His heart has been thundering in his ears from the minute he stepped off his own porch. He wants to end the pointless conversation here, close the gap, maybe get Robert on his back, hold him down and just tear into him, but Joseph made the move to come over in the first place. It’s Robert’s turn in this dance they do, and Joseph isn’t going to let him get away with not taking it.

“Whatever you want,” Joseph nearly whispers, breath seized up in his lungs. They're moving so fast, but time is moving so slowly. This is all really happening. Robert’s eyes close briefly, and Joseph feels the absence of that careful gaze like it’s a missing limb. When he opens them again, a spike of arousal twists Joseph’s gut. There’s an intensity there like Joseph has never seen. If Robert ever focuses that look on someone else again, Joseph won’t know what to do with himself. It belongs to him. From this moment on, Joseph knows he’s never going to be able to let Robert go.

“Don’t write blank checks unless you’re prepared to cash them, baby,” Robert warns, gripping Joseph’s knee almost painfully tight. Joseph lets out a strangled sound of frustration.

“Has anyone ever told you you talk too much? Because for someone so supposedly taciturn, you never seem to shut the fuck-”

The rest of Joseph’s sentence is lost to the crush of Robert’s mouth against his, calloused hands yanking at his hair to bring them closer. Joseph’s groan of relief is four years in the making, swallowed by the sweep of Robert’s tongue past Joseph’s easily-parted lips. He tastes like whiskey and cigarettes, exactly like Joseph imagined, and nothing like Joseph imagined. He couldn’t have imagined this. He’s never known anything like this. He groans again, opening his mouth wider, trying to force them closer with his hands grappling at Robert’s shoulders.

“Shh, sweetheart,” Robert shushes him, mumbled against his mouth. “Ain’t no rush.”

“There absolutely is,” Joseph replies, chasing Robert’s mouth when he pulls away, biting back a whine when Robert stills him with the grip in his hair.

“Scared you’re gonna change your mind?” Robert asks, eyes shuttered with trepidation. “Because if you ain’t completely sure about this now, I’m not gonna-”

It’s Joseph’s turn to cut him off, breaking his hold to press their mouths together again. “I’m not going to change my mind,” he promises, dragging the tip of his nose across Robert’s sharp cheekbone. “But haven’t we waited long enough for this already?” He feels Robert’s sigh against his lips, shaky with emotion.

“Too goddamn long,” Robert agrees, hands drifting to Joseph’s waist, holding his hips almost painfully tight. Joseph does whine then, meeting Robert’s tongue with his own before their lips even touch. It’s objectively a terrible kiss, sloppy with overeagerness, rough with hunger. It’s the best kiss of Joseph’s life. He lets Robert guide him into his lap, knees sinking into the couch on either side of Robert’s legs. Joseph buries his hands in Robert’s thick hair, tipping his head back to stick his tongue as far down Robert’s throat as he can.

Robert’s hands slide up, pulling Joseph’s polo free from his waistband. “Get it off,” he snarls, dragging the shirt up roughly. Joseph raises his arms, allowing Robert to divest him of his shirt before taking his face in his hands like he’s dreamed of. “Fucking gorgeous,” Robert sighs, eyes moving rapidly over Joseph’s body. His hands return to Joseph’s waist, and without the barrier of the cotton, Joseph can feel every callus and scar.

“Love your hands, I’ve always loved your hands,” Joseph pants, trailing messy kisses along Robert’s jaw to his ear, letting the stubble scratch him, tonguing the lobe until Robert moans.

“Just wait, baby,” Robert says, running said hands across Joseph’s naked torso, tweaking a nipple and causing Joseph to shudder with pleasure. “Not gonna take ‘em off you til I’ve made you scream. Maybe not even then,” he adds, nudging Joseph with his nose until Joseph meets him in another kiss. He takes his time with this one, stroking his tongue along Joseph’s until Joseph thinks he’s going to burst with need.

“Robert,” he pleads when Robert pulls back, taking Joseph’s lower lip between his teeth and tugging. “Robert,” he tries again, more desperately when he doesn’t get a response. Robert hums, diving back into the kiss before Joseph can say anything else. Robert kisses him until he’s breathless, until his toes are curling so hard he’s getting a cramp, until he’s sure his manicured nails are going to leave permanent marks on the back of Robert’s neck. “Robert…”

“That’s my name,” Robert agrees, ghosting his fingers over the tattoo on Joseph’s shoulder, following them with his mouth. “Don’t wear it out.”

Joseph tips his face into Robert’s hair as he continues to lick at the tattoo, unable to help the undulations of his hips down into Robert’s lap. “This is sexy as fuck, by the way,” Robert tells him, nuzzling the tattoo before leaning back to meet Joseph’s eyes. “Never took you for a tattoo guy.”

“We all do wild things as kids,” Joseph replies, brushing Robert’s bangs off his forehead and holding the greying locks in a tight fist. Robert’s eyelids flutter at the pressure, and he lets out a low groan. Talk about sexy.

Robert grins up at him, mouth flushed so deeply red it looks painful. Joseph could eat him alive. “Got any more of that wild in ya?” His tone is playful, but his eyes are blown wide, and Joseph shivers with anticipation.

“That depends,” Joseph says, proud of the even tone he manages to achieve. “You gonna quit fucking around?”

Robert groans, wrapping both arms around Joseph’s back and burying his face in Joseph’s chest. “Love it when you talk dirty,” he mumbles, scraping his teeth against one of Joseph’s nipples. “Pop a boner every time you let slip something filthy from that pretty mouth of yours.”

Joseph laughs, startled, letting it bleed into a gasp when Robert bites down. “Every time?” he asks, incredulous, hands coming up to hold Robert’s head in place. “Last week, at the barbeque, when I burned that whole batch of burgers because Christian and Christie were terrorizing Craig’s twins?”

“Had to excuse myself to rub one out in your guest bathroom,” Robert confirms, to Joseph’s delight. And disbelief.

“Robert!” he laughs again. Robert is smiling up at him, eyes shining, and in a sudden rush, Joseph realizes he’s happier than he’s been in years. This is already the best sex he’s ever had, and Robert is still fully dressed. Why is he still dressed? “Why are you still dressed?” he asks, pitching his voice lower in an effort to imitate Robert’s seductive rumble.

“Eager, are we?” Robert returns, sliding his hands down over Joseph’s ass. “Where’s your saintly patience, Joe?”

Joseph presses back into him, earning himself a gratuitous squeeze. “At least I don’t have to get myself off every time you curse,” he answers, letting his eyes slip shut when Robert shifts him closer, settling Joseph’s crotch firmly against his own.

Robert’s laugh echoes in Joseph’s chest, pressed together as they are. “Your dick would fall off from overuse,” Robert affirms, setting up a rhythm of squeeze and grind that has Joseph biting his lip. Robert rubs his stubbled cheek into Joseph’s neck and chest, scratching him up in an onslaught of pleasured pain.

“Gonna fall off from neglect if you don’t get to it pretty soon,” Joseph grits out, startling when Robert lands a sharp smack against his ass. There’s a rush of heat unlike anything Joseph’s experienced, radiating from the place Robert’s hand made contact and up his spine. Joseph chokes on a moan, mortified at his reaction. Robert watches him intensely, suddenly seeming concerned.

“Too much?” he questions, tone serious. “I never asked, I’m sorry.” His eyes are so sincere it breaks Joseph’s heart a little. He leans in to kiss him again, speaking against his lips.

“Would it totally kill the mood if I quoted Britney Spears right now?”

Robert’s eyes crinkle at the corners, kiss turning toothy with his smile. “Baby, one more time?” he checks.

“Hit me,” Joseph confirms, head falling back in laughter when Robert gives him another slap, this time more jokingly. He slides back, knees protesting their prolonged cramped position as he stands up. Robert’s watching him with a carefully neutral expression, letting his hands slip around to the flat of Joseph’s stomach, kneading the muscle there. He seems to be waiting for Joseph to step away, but after a few seconds, when it becomes apparent that Joseph isn’t going anywhere, he leans in, tongue tracing the muscles his hands had just been on. Joseph winds his fingers in his hair again, sighing contentedly.

“Are you ever going to get naked?” Joseph asks eventually, with more than a little impatience. Robert pauses, teeth set in the fleshy bit of skin around Joseph’s navel, eyes lifting to Joseph’s face. He releases the skin with a slow suck, sending Joseph’s eyelids fluttering.

“Is that what you want?” Robert speaks slowly, resting his chin on Joseph’s abs. Where on earth all this double-checking is coming from, Joseph doesn’t know.

“Obviously!” Joseph sputters, spreading his arms out. “We’ve been making out like a couple of horny teenagers for the last...forever. We’re grown men, Robert. We can move a little faster.”

“Ain’t you ever heard of foreplay, pretty boy? You gotta warm up a little,” Robert chuckles, causing Joseph to blush slightly. Of course he’s heard of foreplay. He just didn’t necessarily realize it was required when both parties were already good to go.

“There’s foreplay, and then there’s torture,” Joseph huffs, pushing Robert’s face away when he gives him another nip, this time on his hip. His teeth are surprisingly sharp.

“You’d be surprised how often the two intersect,” Robert replies conversationally. Joseph squawks in frustration, spinning on his heel.

“If you’re just gonna talk me to death, I’m gonna go home and take care of myself,” he shoots over his shoulder, managing one step before Robert’s arms wrap around his waist, vice-like. He feels Robert stand up behind him, shivering as his hair drags up the length of Joseph’s bare back. Robert presses in close, the hard line of his cock nestled at the crease of Joseph’s thigh.

“Like hell,” he growls, biting the junction of Joseph’s shoulder harshly. “But I didn’t wait four years to fuck you on the couch, honey. Turn around.” It’s not a request. Joseph complies immediately, yelping when Robert hauls his legs up around his waist, mouth closing on Joseph’s collarbone in a fierce kiss.

“Robert, I weigh more than you do!” Joseph protests, clinging to the older man for dear life. It would be hard to explain a busted tailbone to the rest of the cul-de-sac.

“You’re perfect,” Robert assures him, picking his way back across the cluttered room. Joseph tries to make himself as light as possible.

“If you throw your back out before we even make it to the bedroom, I swear to-” Joseph stops himself, not particularly keen on bringing the Lord’s name into this.

“Satan?” Robert finishes helpfully. Joseph kicks him. “Ow! Shitheel.”

“Asshole,” Joseph retorts, grinning when Robert groans exaggeratedly. Robert never should have told him about that particular kink.

They’ve reached the base of the stairs that lead to Robert’s bedroom, Robert peering over Joseph’s shoulder at them like Joseph imagines people look up at Everest. “I’m already hopelessly turned on by you,” Joseph promises him, wriggling a little to indicate Robert should put him down. “You don’t have to impress me with some manly show of strength.”

Robert snorts, hefting Joseph higher in his arms. “Baby, if I can’t carry your ass up one flight of steps, I don’t deserve to stick my dick in it, either.”

“Robert!”

“Or the other way, stud, I ain’t picky,” Robert assures him, mounting the first stair after another heaving readjustment of Joseph. “Besides, I once carried my friend Johnnyboy for two days through the toughest terrain I’d ever seen, and he was no ballerina, lemme tell you.”

“Just stop talking,” Joseph begs, burying his face in Robert’s shoulder. Robert huffs a laugh, breathing a little labored as they near the top of the blessedly short staircase. He makes a show of leaning against the wall outside of his room once they reach the landing, panting obnoxiously in Joseph’s ear. Joseph refuses to acknowledge how hot the whole experience is.

“Was that good for you?” Robert whispers throatily, sticking his tongue in Joseph’s ear without warning. Joseph recoils only a little, still not eager to get dropped on his ass.

“Remind me again why I’m doing this with you?” he asks, keeping his tone light, but Robert pulls back to meet his eye, eyes gone dark once more.

“Baby,” he says seriously, “it beats the hell out of me.” When Joseph makes a protesting noise, Robert talks over him. “You could have anyone you wanted, you realize that?” He crosses his room to set Joseph gently on the bed, stepping between Joseph’s parted thighs and putting his mouth near Joseph’s ear again. “What a hot young thing like you has ever seen in an old drunk like me, I’ll never know.”

Joseph is stunned for a moment, passively taking the kiss Robert presses to his mouth. How he doesn’t know by now that Joseph is crazy for him is ridiculous. Joseph sets a hand on his chest, pushing gently until Robert lifts his head. There’s a million things he wants to say, reassurances and confessions and praises, but all he can get out is “You’re not even that old.”

“Sugar, I could almost be your dad if I’d gotten busy early,” Robert laughs, brushing the backs of his fingers over Joseph’s cheeks. “I swear I got pairs of socks older than you.”

Joseph leans into the touch, even as he argues. “Robert, you’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever met, and the...the only person I want to be with. Period,” he adds sternly, searching Robert’s eyes, searing his meaning into his expression, hoping he gets it. He does. Joseph can tell by the way his eyelids dip, just for a second. “Fuck everybody else.”

Robert surges against him, and Joseph goes down in the tangled sheets of his bed. He’s overpowered by the scent of Robert; above him, feverishly pressing kisses into his mouth; around him, nestled deep in the covers; beneath him, permanently ingrained in the mattress. It’s intoxicating, stronger than the whiskey that’s long faded from Robert’s tongue. “Come on,” he begs, tugging at Robert’s sweater. His sweater. The sweater. The catalyst to all of this. Joseph’s thinking of having it framed. “Come on, Robert, please. Take this off. I want to touch you. Let me.”

Robert groans, dropping his head next to Joseph’s on the bed. He braces his arms on either side of Joseph’s shoulders, pushing up to stare down at him, muscles in his arms standing out even beneath the sweater. “I kinda like having it on,” he teases, grinning when Joseph whines. “Jesus, kid, all right.” He stands up, ignoring Joseph’s grasping hands at his waist, pulling the sweater over his head in a single, smooth motion that leaves Joseph’s mouth dry. Joseph sits up, reaching out to finally, finally get his hands on Robert’s dark, bare skin.

“Fucking gorgeous,” Joseph echoes Robert’s earlier sentiment, running his tongue along the length of the scar cutting between Robert’s pecs. He wants to ask, but Robert is never the biggest fan of invasive questions, and Joseph doubts he’ll be any more amenable to them in the heat of the moment.

“Your congregation know about that foul mouth of yours?” Robert poses the question in a way that doesn’t demand an answer. He doesn’t give Joseph time to give him one, anyway, mouth catching Joseph’s again as his hands drop to Joseph’s belt, yanking at the buckle impatiently.

Everything becomes very real for Joseph, all at once. The heat and intensity in Robert’s touch. The desperate ache of his arousal. The lingering guilt of this indiscretion. The relief of being moments away from consummating years worth of false starts and almosts. It’s overwhelming, each emotion struggling for dominance until it’s all Joseph can do to lie back and pant, hands falling away from Robert’s shoulders. He’s barely aware of Robert wrestling away his pants, lifting his hips obediently when prompted but struggling with cognizance until Robert’s rough hands slide their way up his now-bare legs.

“Hey,” Robert says, looming over him once more. “What’s up?”

Joseph blinks at him for a moment, needing time to pull his thoughts back. “What do you mean?”

Robert’s fingers are rubbing slow circles on the insides of his thighs, but his touch has lost the urgency of before. He’s watching Joseph through hooded eyes. “Where’d you go? It’s like somebody took the wind out of your sails.” He glances quickly at Joseph’s obvious erection, tenting the front of his briefs despite his distraction. “Metaphorically,” he amends, smirking a little.

“I still want this,” Joseph rushes to assure him, knowing about Robert’s obsession with gaining permission for every move. “It’s just...a lot, you know?”

Robert stretches up until they’re lying flush against each other, propping himself up on elbows on either side of Joseph’s head, fingers stroking through his hair. He grinds their hips together, a little, smiling at the groan it pulls from deep in Joseph’s chest. “Thinkin’ about Mary?” he asks, voice gone soft with concern. Joseph stiffens, turning his face so Robert’s questing lips find his cheek instead of the intended target of his mouth.

“We shouldn’t talk about her right now.” Joseph’s tone is clipped, hating Robert for bringing her up while they’re right in the middle of _this_. Hating himself for being in the middle of this in the first place, despite his wife’s indifference. He shouldn’t have to choose between fidelity and happiness. Neither of them should. But it’s the situation he’s found himself in, and he resents the reminder. Especially from Robert, the king of immorality.

“Hey,” Robert says again, turning Joseph’s face back to his. “Look at me.” Joseph does,  cautiously. “You think Mary don’t already think this is happening? She’s been asking me for years if I’m screwing her husband yet.” He holds tight when Joseph tries to jerk away, mortified. “Joseph, you gotta cut yourself some slack here. Mary doesn’t give a rat’s ass what you do. And maybe that’s fucked up,” he continues, stroking his thumbs over the heat in Joseph’s cheeks, “and maybe you should be home trying to sort this out instead of here with me, but a marriage takes two people to make it work, and honey, Mary checked out of yours a long time ago.”

Joseph’s throat is tight, preventing him from speaking, so Robert starts again.

“And I ain’t trying to talk you into cheating, and I won’t pretend to understand the fucked up dynamic you two have going on, but from where I’m standing, you’re as good as divorced anyway.”

“Divorce is a sin,” Joseph manages finally, leaning up to press his face into Robert’s neck. “I can’t get divorced. I’ll lose my job. Maybe my kids. I can’t, Robert, I ca-”

“Okay, okay,” Robert soothes, kissing his ear. “I hear ya. So’s far as I see it, you got two options: you can go home and keep on living your perfect little lie where you pretend you’re in a functioning marriage and your wife isn’t out sitting in the lap of every guy who walks into Neil’s place, or you can stay and keep on living the lie in public, but let me take care of you in here.”

Joseph clings to him then, nails scrabbling at the corded muscles of his back. “Just...tell me this is more than tonight,” he pleads, hating the vulnerability of it but unable to help himself. “Tell me I’m not throwing away my marriage for a one night stand.” He meets Robert’s eye with difficulty, needing to know more than he needs to hide. Robert considers him for a long time, expression unreadable in the dark room.

“Baby,” he rasps finally, tightening his grip on Joseph’s face, “if you think I’m ever lettin’ you go again, you’re dumber than you look.”

Joseph kisses him. It’s like a dam has broken, the urgency of before returning in a dizzying rush. Joseph’s back hits the mattress again with a resounding thump, one of Robert’s knees pushed up between his own, giving him no room to escape. Not that he’d want to. He arches into Robert’s touch, unable to get close enough. Robert doesn’t let him up from the kiss even when Joseph’s sure he’s going to suffocate on his tongue, but he can’t think of a more blissful way to die.

Eventually, Robert breaks the kiss with a harsh gasp, chest heaving as he rolls away to stand at the foot of the bed. He whips his belt from the loops, and Joseph stops protesting when he realizes Robert’s intent, hurriedly sitting up to help him with the fly of his jeans. Robert lets his hands be knocked away, hunger carving his expression out of stone, eyes on Joseph’s mouth as he bites his lip. Without his belt, Robert’s pants hang loosely off his narrow hips, falling away of their own accord when Joseph works the zipper down. And of course he isn’t wearing underwear.

“Need to do some laundry,” Robert huffs a laugh when Joseph makes a strangled noise at the sight of his bare cock.

“Prefer you like this,” Joseph replies, leaning forward to lave his tongue over the tip. “Easier access.”

“Jesus Christ,” Robert grits out, hips jerking forward seemingly of their own accord. Joseph makes a disapproving noise at his choice of profanity, moving his mouth away to frown up at Robert. “Oh whatever, you just had my dick in your mouth,” Robert snaps, without any bite.

“And if you want it back in there, you’ll watch the language,” Joseph tells him, lying back against the sheets as Robert kicks his pants away. He spreads his legs to make room for Robert to rejoin him, but Robert reaches for Joseph’s briefs first, tossing them over his shoulder before catching Joseph around the knees and dragging him to the edge of the bed. Dark threads of want snap taut at the rough way Robert handles him, and Joseph wraps his legs around his waist to keep him close, unable to resist curving up into Robert, bringing their cocks into contact for the first time.

The noise Robert makes sends tendrils of heat singing through Joseph’s blood. Robert lets go of one of Joseph’s legs to wrap a hand around both of them, stroking up torturously slow. Apparently every step of fucking Robert is slow.

“Robert,” Joseph gasps, thrusting into the loose fist Robert holds them in, the touch not nearly enough, “please.”

“Please what?” Robert asks, no hint of a tease in his voice. “What do you want?”

“Everything, anything,” Joseph says before he can think about it, groaning out a curse when Robert twists his fist, the dry drag of his calloused palm bordering on painful.

“Joseph, I want a specific answer.” Robert’s tone brooks no argument, and Joseph tries to focus on something other than the delicious friction long enough to give him one.

“Fuck me,” he decides, unable to get the picture of Robert’s gorgeous fingers opening him up slowly, like he’s wont to do, out of his head. “I want you to fuck me.”

Robert’s dick jumps in his hand, clearly on board with the idea, and Robert’s kiss is harsh when he bends over Joseph, nearly biting with need. “You sure you’re ready for that?” He seems reluctant to ask, but he wouldn’t be Robert if he didn’t.

“More than sure,” Joseph swears, kissing him gently in contrast to the fierce wave of desire he’s still riding.

“Not just mentally,” Robert clarifies, clearing his throat uncomfortably, “but...physically, too?” His eyes plead with Joseph not to make him spell it out, and Joseph may be a minister, but he’s no saint. Nor is he an idiot.

“I took a shower before I came,” he whispers into Robert’s mouth, tongue at the back of his teeth. “I’m good to go, on all fronts.”

Robert groans desperately around the kiss, fingers tightening behind Joseph’s knee, thrusting against him roughly. “If that ain’t a happy picture, I don’t know what is.” He keeps them close for another few minutes, kissing like he’s got years to make up for. Joseph runs his hands over every inch of Robert he can reach, ultimately joining the hand between them with one of his own. Robert lets Joseph stroke him a couple of times, testing his weight. His dick is as nice as the rest of him, and judging by the hardness, the feeling is mutual.

“Hang on a second,” Robert mumbles regretfully, withdrawing from Joseph’s reach to open a drawer in the table next to the bed. Joseph blows out a shaky breath, using the reprieve to swipe the back of one hand across his mouth, feeling the sting of Robert’s stubble on his swollen lips. He hopes his entire face is red with it.

Robert returns with a condom, which he drops on the bed, and a half empty bottle of lube. Joseph’s eyes narrow, momentarily distracted from his burning arousal. “Been busy?” he asks, not quite as casually as he’d hoped. Robert shoots him an amused looked, popping the cap on the lube and smearing it across a couple fingers.

“Had to do something to keep from pining after you, didn’t I?” He’s back between Joseph’s legs, hitching them up to his shoulders this time. Joseph is grateful for those yoga classes he’s been going to with Craig when Robert’s eyes widen appreciatively at his flexibility. He’s not sure if his gasp is a result of Robert’s words, or the finger he brushes lightly down the cleft of his ass.

“Sweetheart, you’ve been pining for me?” The endearment slips from his tongue like water, like it’s been waiting for him to use it. Robert grins at him, circling the tip of one finger at his rim.

“Like you haven’t been gagging for me from the day we met,” Robert says cockily, leaning in just to watch the bend of Joseph’s body to accommodate him.

And Joseph has, but he sees no need to tell Robert that. It’s enough for both of them to know that this is something they want. Something they’ve always wanted.

Joseph’s brief wrestle with jealousy flees when Robert finally works a finger into him, his moan almost more gratified than Joseph’s own. That dark, possessive look is back in his eyes, the one that holds Joseph hostage effortlessly, and he’s suddenly sure that the ghost of any other lover is gone from Robert’s memory, as surely as they’d been gone from his bed before the sun had properly risen the next day.

Robert opens him as slowly as Joseph had anticipated, kissing any part of Joseph that strikes his fancy, leaving bites and bruises in his wake, and still it feels too soon when he pulls out gently. Joseph can’t quite stifle his whine of loss, getting a laugh from Robert, dark with lust.

“How do you want me, baby?” Robert asks thickly, reaching for the condom with his dry hand, tearing it open with his teeth and rolling it on in a smooth, practiced, one-handed move. Joseph wants to tell him that’s probably not the best way to remove it from the wrapper, but the sight of Robert’s swarthy hands on his flushed cock, giving himself a few perfunctory tugs to spread the remaining lube around, chases the thought from his head.

“Are you going to make fun of me if I say I want to see you?” Joseph answers when Robert raises an inquiring eyebrow at him. Robert is standing at the foot of the bed, Joseph’s long legs reaching for the floor on either side of him.

“Only if you mock my old-man stamina when I come two seconds after I’m in your pretty ass,” Robert admits, reaching for Joseph’s ankles and pulling him back to the edge of the bed before draping his legs over his shoulders. “Like this, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, perfect,” Joseph says, letting Robert slide his hands under his ass to lift him. He ignores Robert’s mumbled “Figures a minister wants it missionary...”, leaning up with him when Robert stretches for one of the pillows above Joseph’s head, tucking it beneath his hips. “If you hadn’t dragged this out for eternity, you might have a little more control,” Joseph can’t resist teasing back, jerking away with a laugh when Robert bites the inside of his knee in retaliation.

“You ready?” Robert’s tight with anticipation, muscle in his jaw twitching as he stares down at Joseph. He looks dangerous and impossibly sexy, backlit from the light in the hall where it peeks through the cracked door. He’s beautiful and strong and looking at Joseph like he can’t believe he’s real, and Joseph can’t wait any longer.

“Please.”

Objectively, Joseph knows that the world doesn’t stop when Robert finally pushes in. It doesn’t shift on its axis, either, nor does it all come crashing down, narrowing the entirety of the universe to this one moment. But God, if it doesn’t feel like it. Joseph knows he cries out, thinks it’s Robert’s name, hears Robert’s gruff voice in his ear, litany of praise falling from his lips. The stretch is exquisite, despite the care Robert took to prepare him, and Joseph’s lungs burn as all the air is forced out of them. He presses into it rather than away, trying to encourage Robert’s glacial pace with nails at his back.

“Robert,” he says, has been saying all night, can never say enough. “Robert, Robert, Robert. Rob. Robbie, baby, please, please.” Joseph’s not even sure what he’s asking for; more, harder, faster, please.

Robert kisses him, and Joseph’s sure it’s to shut him up, but he doesn’t care, returns it with fervor, grateful for something to distract him from the maddening pressure when Robert bottoms out. There’s a moment before Robert moves that they just cling, breathing each other’s air, basking in the relief of _finally_. Robert breaks the kiss like he can’t bear to leave Joseph’s mouth, biting his lip and tonguing the impressions his teeth leave. He pulls out just as reluctantly, watching Joseph’s face. His hands hold Joseph’s hips bruisingly tight, angling him up to meet his thrust when he eases back in.

“Tell me.”

Joseph isn’t sure what he’s looking to hear, so he tells him everything, just in case. How good he is, how much he wants this, how he’d never dreamed they’d be here, like this, how much better it is than he’d ever imagined. It does the trick, every word that spills from Joseph’s lips increasing Robert’s tempo until they’re fucking in earnest, boxsprings protesting the rough treatment.

Robert takes a half step closer, settling Joseph’s legs higher on his shoulders, and the angle sends Joseph scrambling for something to hold, nails digging into the backs of Robert’s hands. He throws his head back with a moan, and Robert grunts in response.

“Yeah?” he asks, clearly past his earlier chattiness, gone quiet and intense with the increased passion of their coupling.

“Yes, absolutely yes,” Joseph gasps, barely able to speak for the whines Robert is pulling from him on every inward thrust. “Don’t stop.”

“Not on your life,” Robert assures him, adjusting his grip on Joseph so he could hold him up with one of his hands, the other reaching for Joseph’s neglected cock, laying hard and leaking against his stomach.

“I’ll come,” Joseph warns him, arching into the touch before Robert presses him back into his movements. “Robert…”

“That’s the point, angel face. You think I’m fucking you to get you not to come?” He tightens his grip as if to make his point, his sharp hips almost painful where they slam into Joseph’s.

“Fuck, Robert!” Joseph cries on a particularly accurate thrust, Robert’s hand twisting around the head of his cock in perfect synchronicity. It’s too much for his overwhelmed senses, and he comes with almost no warning, back bowing so harshly that only his shoulders and head remain on the bed. He can feel Robert practically shaking with exertion, hips losing all finesse as he chases his own release. He goes to pull out, lowering Joseph to the mattress and bracing his hands near his shoulders, but Joseph lets his legs drop to his waist, keeping him close as he rides the last waves of his orgasm. “Don’t.”

“Baby, you gotta be beyond sensitive,” Robert hisses through clenched teeth, looking like it’s taking everything in him not to pick up where he left off.

“You’re close?” Joseph pants. Robert nods shortly, eyes pinched shut. “Come on, then. I want to see you. Robert. Please,” he adds as an afterthought, raking his hands through Robert’s sweaty hair, tugging sharply when he remembers how Robert had moaned earlier.

It does the trick, sending Robert into his own shouting finish just a handful of thrusts later. His eyes fly open to find Joseph’s, and the wild devotion he sees in them sends a thrill up Joseph’s spine, though it’s too soon for him to get it up again.

Robert pitches forward, not quite collapsing onto Joseph’s chest, and bites down on the meat of his shoulder, just above the tattoo. Joseph wraps both arms around his heaving back, burying his face in his neck and exhaling sharply. They lie together for several long minutes, Joseph tracing patterns into the cooling sweat at Robert’s neck, Robert soothing over the bite he left with his tongue. Lazy, affectionate motions, a natural extension of their lovemaking. After a while, Robert lets out a long sigh that sounds like it comes from the very depths of his being.

“I think you killed me.”

Joseph laughs, heart full, mussing up his hair tenderly. “Feeling all 47 of those years, huh?”

Robert shifts away with a groan, pressing an apologetic kiss to Joseph’s chest when he slips free from his body. Joseph loses a couple of minutes to the blissful haze of afterglow while Robert rustles around in the attached bathroom, coming back to himself when he feels the bed dip again. Robert has procured a warm, wet towel, and is gently running it through the mess on Joseph’s stomach. Joseph hums contentedly, stretching into a gasp when Robert brings the towel between his legs. He looks down in time to see Robert trace a finger at his rim, the flesh puffy and sore. Robert’s eyes flick up to meet his.

“You okay?”

Joseph looks at him, at them, where they are and what they’ve been doing and what’s to come. He looks at him, being so gentle and attentive, so unlike the Robert he wants everyone to believe he is, and feels it all welling up in his chest, threatening to spill over at any moment. He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until Robert’s lips are on his face, until his fingers are catching the tears as they drip down his chin.

“Hey, Joe, hey, I’m right here. You’re okay,” Robert shushes him, leaning back against the headboard and settling Joseph securely in his arms. “You’re okay.”

Joseph shakes his head, bracing his hands on Robert’s chest so he can push back to see his eyes. Robert is watching him warily, tracking the tears still falling. “No,” Joseph says, and Robert stiffens. Joseph realizes his mistake a beat too late and climbs into his lap, kissing him desperately in reassurance. Robert’s hands come up to frame his jaw, almost reluctantly. “Shh, no, I mean I’m better than okay,” Joseph hurries to reassure him, kissing every part of his face. Lips, nose, eyelids, forehead. “This was...more than I ever thought. I _never_ thought, not really, not in a realistic way, but I’m happy, so happy, and you’re so gorgeous, and you smell so good, and your hands,” he pauses to catch one and brings it to his mouth, kissing every finger and the center of his palm. “I love your hands.”

“You’ve mentioned it,” Robert says, and Joseph can hear the relief in his voice, masked with wry amusement, can see it in his half-lidded eyes. He kisses his hand again, lingering over the place where his thumb and forefinger meet. Robert lets the digits brush against Joseph’s cheek, feather light. Joseph can see everything Robert doesn’t say, can feel it in the gentleness of his touch. He’s happy, too.

Joseph loses himself in Robert’s hands for a while, lacing their fingers and using the grip to turn his arm this way and that, admiring the jut of his ulna, the prominence of the veins in his forearms and the backs of his hands. He looks up at Robert, who has his eyes closed, head tipped back against the headboard in exhausted satisfaction, submitting to Joseph’s ministrations with a soft smile creasing his mouth.

“Hey, Rob?”

Robert hums, popping one eye open. Joseph lifts his hand, showing him the coveted spot, tracing a finger around it seductively.

“You ever thought about getting a tattoo?”

 

-x-

 

He’s trying to hide it, Joseph can tell. He’s got Joseph’s sweater on again, and the too-long sleeves are just the right length to cover his purlicue (the official name for the space between the thumb and index finger, they’d learned at the tattoo shop), but Joseph isn’t going to let him get away with it for long.

He makes his way over to where Robert is sitting with Craig, the rest of the cul-de-sac families spread out across Brian’s impressively manicured backyard. They all take turns hosting some kind of event every month, except Robert, mostly because there isn’t room for them all among the detritus in his house, and this month is Brian’s famous fish fry. Personally, Joseph prefers barbeque, but he isn’t complaining about not hosting this month because it means he’s free to pursue Robert, rather than man a grill all afternoon.

Joseph takes the seat on Robert’s right at the picnic table, sliding a glass of whiskey in front of him as a peace offering for the teasing to come. Robert stiffens slightly, then relaxes when he realizes who it is. He bumps his shoulder into Joseph’s briefly, and Joseph’s stomach turns over like it always does when Robert touches him. They’re no different in public than they ever were, but the air between them has changed drastically since that first night. Joseph feels electrified in his presence, hair standing on end every time Robert so much as glances his way. He knows he should be more careful about their interactions, but it’s hard to tamp down his excitement. Robert hooks an ankle around his under the table, not serving to help Joseph’s struggle at all. The glint in his eye as he takes a sip of his drink tells Joseph that he knows exactly what he’s doing. Joseph feels less guilty about his plan to exploit his knowledge of Robert’s latest secret.

Craig nods a greeting at Joseph across the table, never pausing in his recounting of some hilarious thing his twins had done at softball last week. Joseph can tell Robert is only pretending to listen, that his patience is close to wearing out, that there’s nothing Robert hates more than smalltalk. He hides a smile as he leans forward, asking Craig polite questions about his wife and his business and his fitness regime, feeling Robert grow tenser by the second.

Stepping up his game, Joseph begins to draw Robert into the conversation. It’s all “Oh, Robert was telling me” this and “Robert, didn’t you say…” that, until finally, he reaches out to touch Robert’s hand as he makes a joke, pressing his fingers down into the newly inked skin until Robert gasps. Craig glances at him, concerned, while Joseph sneaks a taste of Robert’s whiskey, pleased.

“You okay, man?” Craig asks, reaching to touch Robert as well. Right where Joseph had. Robert stands up abruptly.

“Fine,” he snaps, glaring down at Joseph. “I just need to borrow Joe for a second.” He claps his hand down on Joseph’s shoulder, right over Joseph’s own tattoo, so that the two are lined up through layers of clothes, muscle, and skin. Joseph’s whole arm tingles with pleasure.

“Be right back, you know how he is,” Joseph winks at Craig as Robert marches away, following him into Brian’s empty kitchen. He doesn’t expect the hand that reaches out to haul him into the pantry just inside, shoving him back into the shelves and pulling the door closed behind him.

“You’re a goddamn menace, Christiansen, you know that?” Robert’s pressed up into his space now, breath whiskey-warm, fingers coming up to dig into his shoulder again. There’s light streaming through the small window at the back of the pantry, bathing the cramped space. Robert’s sleeves have been pushed back, giving Joseph a clear view of the dark, abstract lines of the wheel permanently etched into his skin. Robert’s fingers are bunching up the sleeve of Joseph’s polo, exposing the same helm, perfectly lined up with Robert’s when they touch like this. When Robert holds him down, when Robert pulls him in, when Joseph lies across his chest with Robert’s hands running up and down his arms.

“You love it,” Joseph breathes, turning his head to press a kiss to the still-tender skin. Robert sucks in another breath, watching Joseph’s tongue trace the sinuous lines stretched between his fingers. Joseph raises his eyes, smiling almost shyly under Robert’s intensity. “Don’t you?”

Robert looks at him, at his tattoo, at his own, back into Joseph’s eyes. He leans in to ghost his lips against Joseph’s, thumb pressing into the ink at his shoulder.

“Yeah.”

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed reading, and keep an eye out for more to come in this verse! let me know if there's anything specific you liked or hated, or anything at all, and also come say hi on tumblr [x](http://backwardstraveller.tumblr.com/)
> 
> title taken from here [x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4XbT9HWmNQo/)


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